


Day +37

by SallyExactly



Series: And Sweetest In The Gale [3]
Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:56:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21774817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SallyExactly/pseuds/SallyExactly
Summary: Lorena and Garcia reclaim another part of their relationship.
Relationships: Garcia Flynn/Lorena Flynn
Series: And Sweetest In The Gale [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1407730
Comments: 5
Kudos: 17





	Day +37

When Garcia came in, Lorena was nestled in the blankets with a book Lucy had lent her.

“I checked on Iris,” he told her, as he undressed. “She’s still asleep.”

She watched attentively as he folded each item of clothing or dumped it in the hamper, as necessary, and it wasn’t because of her interest in the laundry. “Good.” She’d checked on Iris too, of course, but sleeping _then_ didn’t always translate to sleeping _now_.

She marked her spot with a piece of paper and put the book on the battered shelf at the head of the bed. She knew the uncertainty in her stomach was nothing she’d eaten. She _thought_ this was a good idea, but sometimes hers… weren’t.

Well, they were about to find out.

He got out the sweats he slept in. “Did you and Jiya and Rufus, uh, work things out?”

“We started to.” There was definitely a learning curve. But Jiya and Rufus were so grateful for the possibility of help, they were happy to bring her up to speed, and Lorena herself was just glad to have _something_ to do.

“They work in a different language than I’m used to, but that’s not a total barrier,” she added.

He sat on the edge of the bed, tugged back the blankets, reached for the lamp—

“… _oh_ ,” he breathed, when he saw what she was— well, wasn’t— wearing.

She smiled up at him sweetly.

“It’s like that, is it?” he murmured, with the ghost of a laugh.

That laugh, the way his eyes tracked down her body— good signs. She absolutely didn’t want to push him. But she suspected that, even when he was ready to— to resume their sex life, he might… wait a while, before he said anything.

She stretched, slowly, deliberately, and watched him watch. “Or we could just cuddle.”

He licked his top lip. “After the other night, I feel like I should be the one seducing you.”

The other night: when she’d tested the efficacy of ‘can I go down on you?’ as a method for disrupting his nightmares and letting him _actually sleep_. It wouldn’t solve anything for good, of course. But that night, between totally derailing his brain, and the endorphins, it had worked _spectacularly_. 

“I’m not seducing you, Garcia, I’m just naked in your bed,” she said innocently. His gaze travel very deliberately down and up her body, again; she felt pleasant heat everywhere he looked. “If I _were_ seducing you…” She shifted in the blankets a little, and his eyes followed that movement, too. “… you would know.”

His eyes seemed to widen and darken. Maybe he, like her, was remembering the first time they’d ever made love. Suspecting that he might overthink things, possibly for weeks, if not given encouragement, she’d given it to him, in plain terms even he couldn’t mistake.

She reached for his hand, pressing a chaste kiss to his knuckles. “It’s okay if you want this,” she murmured. “And it’s okay if you don’t.” She had a robe and pajamas within arm’s reach.

He touched his tongue to his top lip. After a long moment, he pulled off his shirt, taking his time about it. Then he stood and stepped out of his pants. He carried both to the dresser, folding them with the ease of long habit.

Her lips twitched. True, he was naturally a tidy person. But his smirk told her he was, in fact, giving her a bit of a show. So she enjoyed it. She certainly wasn’t going to complain about getting to watch him undress _twice_.

He came back to bed and stretched out beside her. “I know what I want,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “What do _you_ want, Lorena?”

She ran her hand down the length of his arm to rest at his waist, stroking that scar from Beledweyne. She slid closer, and his breath stuttered when her torso brushed his— for him, the first touch of her bare body on his in four years.

Deliberately, she slid her leg in between his, bringing them even closer. _Oh, yes._ Then she cupped her hand behind his neck and pulled him down to her mouth. “Start here,” she murmured.

He kissed her readily, gentle, but eager. His thumbs brushed the sensitive skin below her jaw. Then his hands glided to her shoulders, and then past her breasts to her waist. His kisses grew harder and hungrier, and his mouth trailed down to that spot right at the top of her cleavage. She arched her back, encouraging him to—

His hands were shaking.

He pulled back. “This is usually the part where I wake up,” he admitted, voice as uneven as his hands.

She cupped his cheek and let her hand trace down his neck and his chest, to rest on his stomach. “Then should you keep going and convince your brain it’s real?” she suggested. “See what happens? You know… for science?”

He snorted and ducked his head. “It is not only for your scintillating pillow talk that I love you,” he murmured, and kissed that spot again, until she risked spontaneous combustion if he didn’t give the _other_ parts of her breasts a little attention, too. 

When he did, she barely bit back the noise she made at the heat of his mouth on her nipple. The look he gave her was so damn _smug_ , and— He bent his head and did it again— She dug her nails into his shoulder, turning her squeak into a low, demanding growl. 

His eyes widened, and his breathing grew rough. Encouraged, she slid her hands through his hair and tugged gently, and he grunted softly in startled pleasure.

Slowly, he moved down her body— and— but—

He touched her like…

… like he was relearning her.

And she almost hated that.

She flushed with deep shame. After everything he’d been through, for her to object— of _course_ he _was_ relearning her, it had been four years for him—

But— she was allowed feelings, too. And she felt, not for the first time, the acute loss of the man she’d gone to sleep beside, five weeks ago.

Had she really _lost_ him? Or had she just… gotten him with some stuff on top?

No. This was still Garcia, the man she loved, but the version of him she knew best… she had lost. Just like he’d lost his innocence.

He noticed, of course. He lifted his head. “Lorena?”

“Yes,” she managed, because while her emotions were in turmoil, her body was in a very different kind of turmoil and didn’t appreciate the interruption.

He wasn’t fooled. “What is it?”

“It’s all right,” she murmured. “Come— come up here.”

He crawled back up the bed. She tugged him down to her and kissed him, slowly, gently, arching up against him as she stroked up his arms and down his back. If the combination of same man/different man/man to whom she is new was overwhelming, well, she just needed to change— change the— mm— the parameters. If he needed to relearn her… she would do the same with him. Their marriage _wouldn’t_ survive this if they pretended the situation was any different than it was…

And just thinking about them not making it made her throat tighten and her eyes sting.

She tried to stop thinking about that before Garcia could notice. And then his mouth drifted down to her neck, and she had no trouble at all being distracted…

“ _Oh_ ,” she moaned softly. 

This was— this was— the four years unshared between them had left their mark. But it was hard to argue with the devotion in his hands, his lips, his eyes…

Maybe they _couldn’t_ get back what Rittenhouse had taken from them. But maybe they could build something new.

He shifted to one side to free his hand, his body still solid against her, above her, like she liked. His hand drifted leisurely and suggestively down her torso, then brushed against her hair, then lingered at the crease of her thigh as she wriggled with increasing unsubtlety to get that warm pressure where she wanted it.

He chuckled, low and dark in his throat. “Eager?”

She nipped at his lip hard enough to make him breathe in sharply. “You know— oh— _damn_ well I am.” She kissed him, then gave him the look that said, _keep this up, buster, and_ you’re _gonna be on your back_.

She couldn’t flip him if he actually tried to stop her, of course. She couldn’t even do it if he didn’t actively cooperate. But he always did—

His thumb brushed her clit, and her hips arched off the bed. 

His palm against her hipbone pushed her back down as he began to work her up with slow circles. She planted her feet to grind against his hand, because _slow_ was the last thing on her mind right now. She’d wanted this— for _weeks_ — oh, yes— yes, yes—

Barely a minute and she was pressing her hand to her mouth to keep silent as she came. She squeezed her thighs together, and his breath hitched as he stroked her through her orgasm. 

Finally she shuddered again and sank back against the mattress. He looked incredibly smug. She reached for his cock, but he shifted out of reach of her hand and smirked. “Oh, I’m not ready to cut this short yet.”

Garcia being who he was, he would probably be just as scrupulously attentive in bed even if he didn’t get quite sleepy after he came. But this worked out nicely for both of them.

So she tugged him down to kiss him, again, slow and light at first. The pressure of his chest against hers felt so good, like it always had. As she recovered from her orgasm, she wriggled to grind her hip against his cock. He hissed, and tried to pin her hips. “Lorena—” His voice was gravelly.

She smiled up at him innocently.

He slowly kissed his way down her body, deliberately avoiding all her erogenous zones, damn him. She was squirming by the time he pressed a light kiss to her left ankle, and started up the outside of her right leg. He slowed even more as he made his way up her thigh—

“ _Garcia_ ,” she bit out.

He lifted his head and smirked. “I just wanna make sure you’re ready to go again.”

She tried to stare him down, but, like this, it was admittedly a little hard.

He kissed her hipbone, then slid up to her level again, looking pleased with himself. “And, uh, are you?” he added. “I’d _hate_ to rush— mm!”

There was nothing slow or light about the way she kissed him this time.

He slid his hand down her body, making her shiver in antici… pation. He just barely touched her clit, fingers as gentle as his mouth was fierce. She moaned into their kiss, encouraging him. Then, just to be absolutely sure she was communicating clearly— that was so important— she tugged at his hair again.

He worked her up again as she tried to get more— more contact, more pressure, more of him, just _more_. Gently, he slid one finger inside her, then two, and began to stroke. 

And then he stopped.

She opened her eyes, lightheaded with arousal. She’d fully anticipated that at some point tonight he might— need to stop. Whatever— whatever he needed—

Instead, he scooched awkwardly down the bed until he could kiss right where her thigh joined her torso. Then he took a deep, appreciative breath that made her tighten up in pleasure.

“ _Oh_ ,” he breathed. “I’d… forgotten.”

He ducked his head, and tasted her.

She curled her hands in the sheets as he began to lap at her. His tongue was slow, gentle, like he could just do this all damn night, and she definitely _couldn’t_. _Oh_ —

“Garcia,” she panted.

He shifted his weight and began to finger her again. She pressed the side of her hand to her mouth to muffle the sounds she was making. She tried to keep her hips as still as she could, and the desperate impulse to move instead found vent in the roughness of her breathing, her abortive whimpers, the tension in her thighs and stomach as she tried not to arch off the damn bed—

The pleasure of orgasm hit hard. She tightened around his fingers, staying on the peak for a long moment before slowly coming down. His fingers, his tongue, gently coaxed the last of it out of her.

She had to uncross her eyes when she opened them. She sagged against the bed, and sighed softly in sated contentment.

He raised his head, and gently pulled his fingers out of her. The look on his face—

“Do you need to stop,” she said. She wasn’t surprised, not really. She’d expected something like this. She could at least hide her disappointment— disappointment for his sake, not hers.

“No.” It came out fast. “But… I need to pause. I’m sorry—”

“Don’t,” she said. “Don’t.”

He sat up, wiped his fingers and face with a tissue, and stood, looking lost. Then he leaned against the far wall, head bowed, as she cleaned herself up. She stretched out on her side, head pillowed on her arm, and watched him, her heart aching as her skin grew cold. The set of his shoulders, the droop of his neck…

When he turned, his face was set in harsh lines. He paced the small room. She didn’t know what else to do for him except— be here, and wait. She hoped he didn’t, but if he really did want to stop—

Oh, God, that would be just like him, her stubborn, guilt-ridden, self-denying love, to spend this long fingering her and eating her out and then decide he didn’t need anything himself.

Reluctantly, she shrugged into her robe, leaving it untied. It felt like a bad omen, but she was cold, and she didn’t know how long he needed. Should she go to him? She didn’t want him mistaking comfort for something else, or thinking she was trying to rush him. God, she didn’t know what to _do_.

And she hated that.

He came and sat down on the edge of the bed. He reached out and gently brushed her cheek. “You still wanna… keep going?” he asked softly.

Her relief drained tension she hadn’t noticed creeping into her body. She covered his hand with hers, then twined their fingers together. “If you do? Very much.”

He looked at her. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, why?”

“I, ah, you look… sleepy,” he said, with a hint of a smug smile.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Garcia Flynn, are you questioning my stamina?”

His own eyes widened, and he licked his top lip. “Ah…”

She patted the bed beside her. “C’mere,” she whispered.

He stretched out beside her. 

“God, you’re gorgeous,” she murmured. He flushed from his cheeks down to his chest, and that he still did that after this many years together— after the years he’d been through _apart_ — was incredibly endearing.

“Are _you_ sure?” she added.

“Yes.” His voice was a little rough, but didn’t waver. He carefully pushed her robe back from her shoulders, taking his time. The way he looked at her… God, he made her feel beautiful.

She wrapped her fingers around his cock, and began to lightly stroke. She delighted in the way his eyes drifted half-shut, the way his hips began to rock, the way he relaxed and put himself totally in her hands… literally and figuratively.

He swallowed. “ _Lorena_.” Each syllable was long with need, and his voice shook. 

She leaned forward and gently kissed him. “Good?”

He groaned.

She rolled onto her back, bringing him with her. His face was flushed, and he was hard against her hip, but he didn’t immediately move. 

“Please, uh.” His mouth twisted a little sardonically. “Lower your expectations, darling.”

She looked at him in disbelief and disappointment with his priorities and what he thought she was here for. _Really? Really, Garcia?_

She rolled her eyes. “I might _only_ come twice tonight? What a shame.”

“It would be,” he said seriously, and glanced down. “Are you sure you don’t want me to go down on you again?”

“ _Garcia_.”

He smiled, closing his eyes for a moment. Then kissed her as they repositioned themselves so he could slide slowly, gently into her.

“ _Mmm_.” She didn’t usually come from this, not alone, but she _loved_ how it felt when he filled her.

He made a guttural noise, eyes closed, head bent. He looked overwhelmed. Because she was a wicked, wicked woman, she gave him a few seconds, and then squeezed around him.

He made a choking sound, and his eyes snapped open. “L—nnnggh,” he managed.

For good measure, she slid her nails down his shoulders and back.

He started to move. He was so slow and careful with her, like he’d been when they’d first made love. It felt like it took him a moment to remember how to move his hips just right, and then— he— got it— oh _God_ did he get it—

She dug her nails in, and wrapped her legs around his hips. Oooooh, yes, this was just what…

He slid his hand between their bodies, and rubbed at her clit. “I don’t,” she managed. “I don’t need, it’s all right…”

“ _Please_.” His voice was rough. “I wanna feel you, please, it’s been so long…”

 _Oh_. Just the need in his voice might do it for her. _Yes, hello, you called?_ said her ability to have a third orgasm in quick succession.

“Yeah,” she panted, and reached down to replace his fingers with hers.

She rocked against him as they found their rhythm. Oh, this was good, it was _so_ good, he felt so good inside her, above her— she wanted— she wanted—

“Ah— ah!” She swore as pain blossomed. “Stop—”

But he was already pulling out of her, looking horrified. “Lorena—”

“No— it’s fine, I just— hip cramp, ow, _ow_ —” She rolled to the side and tried to stretch it out.

Then she had to laugh. He looked confused. “We’re getting old,” she told him, as the pain faded. To have to stop in the middle of lovemaking because her hip couldn’t take what the rest of her really, _really_ wanted—

He snorted, and ducked his head. “Dearest, I want nothing more,” he murmured, and kissed the curve of her neck.

It took her a moment to understand. Nothing more than— for them to grow old together.

She tilted her head up and kissed him softly.

“Oooh,” she said, as the last of the pain eased. “Okay. That’s better.” She wedged the edge of one of the pillows under her hip, feeling a little geriatric as she did so. “Again?” she murmured against his mouth, reaching for his cock.

“You sure?” His breath hitched.

“Very. You?”

They tried again. He was even more careful with her this time, keeping up a slow, sinful grind that would have her seeing stars before long. She hoped she hadn’t scared him too badly— but it was hard to— mmm— argue with this, _oh_ —

She fought hard to keep quiet, choking back her little noises of pleasure as that perfect pressure built. It was a losing battle—

He solved the problem in typical Garcia problem and kissed her fiercely. She arched up against him— oh _God_ —his— tongue— her whole body tightened—

His mouth muffled her cry of pleasure as she came again. He swore, and his movements became erratic. Then his hips jerked, and she felt more than heard his own grunt of pleasure. For several long moments they just lay there, panting and shaking and spent.

She sighed happily. 

He pulled out of her, and she pressed a gentle, exhausted kiss to his shoulder. He reached for the tissues. “’s wipes one shelf down,” she murmured.

He looked down at her, and smirked. “You did plan this thoroughly.”

“Have you ever known me to half-ass anything?”

They cleaned up, and fell back into bed. He wrapped her carefully in the blankets, in that way he had that seemed to tell her she was precious to him, and settled in behind her, his arm around her waist.

“Thank you for the nudge,” he murmured. “I needed it.”

She turned over within the circle of his arm, so she could smile at him. “Any time.”

He pressed his lips to her hairline. 

“By the way,” she added pointedly, “my expectations were set exactly where they should be.”

He snorted, and looked rueful. But then his expression turned thoughtful, almost sad.

“What is it?”

He shook his head. “I don’t think you wanna hear it.”

She hesitated. She didn’t want to push. But if it was something they could talk about, and maybe make the difference between him sleeping well tonight, and him brooding… “I do now.”

He looked down, and licked his top lip. “I don’t… deserve you.”

This did not surprise her as much as it saddened her. She nuzzled against his chest. “No one deserves anyone, Garcia,” she whispered. “That’s how it works. It’s all grace.”

He made a choked-off noise, and stared at her with the look that, out of them all, most broke her heart: the look of surprise, that she was there. Then he kissed her, and as the kiss went on, she tasted salt.

Finally he wiped his eyes, and settled back against the pillow, looking at her with wonder. Well, that was better than surprise.

“You went through hell to save our daughter, save me, save the _world_ ,” she reminded him. Not her pillow talk of choice, but it was already on his mind. “And I’m supposed to push you away just because you got singed a little crispy around the edges?”

He looked startled, and then chuckled. “Nor is it only for your way with words that I love you.” He kissed her forehead again.

“Good,” she said drily, and tucked herself happily against his solid, warm body. As plans went… this had been a good one.

Sex didn’t fix anything, of course. She knew that. That wasn’t the point.

But it was… a brick. Each moment together was one more brick in the wall, against which the storms of his grief and self-loathing and inadequacy and everything else from the past four years, crashed. Each moment together gave them a better chance of pulling through the compounded mess of what he’d done and what they were still going through…

He shifted on the bed, looking uneasy. Guilt, if she had to guess. God, couldn’t the monsters in his mind just let them _have_ this one? Please? She just wanted to snuggle…

God, this was hard. Then she immediately felt guilty. They were in this together.

“What is it?” she asked, as gently as she could.

He hesitated. “We should have, ah, put a towel down.”

Her eyebrows went up as she reinterpreted his recent movements. Oooops.

“We can take the futon for the night,” he suggested.

“Good idea.” They could wash the sheets in the morning.

They rearranged themselves on the futon. She nestled into him, her face against his chest, and let his scent fill her lungs.

Their memories, the ties of the past, were too frail to stretch alone across the hole of four years between them… not to mention all his wounds. But the memories they had _yet_ to make, the ties they had _yet_ to forge…

This government safe house was not a place she would remember with untrammeled happiness. But she and Iris were here _with him_. And each day, it got a little easier.

The future they’d once imagined together— that was gone. And she knew she couldn’t put off her grieving for those lost possibilities forever. But they had the chance to dream again, to build something new once again. And that was all she asked for. A chance.

She pressed a soft, tired kiss to the skin near his heart as his breathing deepened. They fell asleep together.


End file.
